


collision course

by bloominsummer



Series: 80 bpm, 180 mph [2]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, crop top wonwoo this is for you my love, one scene with descriptions of blood and injury, you know i actually got one (1) "racing" scene in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25307929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominsummer/pseuds/bloominsummer
Summary: As it turns out, navigating a relationship requires more than just a sundial, a compass, or even in modern terms—a positioning system. Wonwoo learns this the hard way and gets awfully lost somewhere in the middle of his journey, but it matters not when he’s got someone waiting for him at the finish line.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan, Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Series: 80 bpm, 180 mph [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833139
Comments: 27
Kudos: 300





	collision course

**Author's Note:**

> set in the same universe as full throttle; probably won't make sense without reading it first.
> 
> take time to visit [this site](https://currentinfo.carrd.co/) today.
> 
> though i'm sure everyone here has seen that fancam of wonwoo at least once, in [here's](https://twitter.com/bIoominsummer/status/1283747992470577154) some visualisation for the last scene <3
> 
> seatbelts on, everyone!

Wonwoo is warm. There’s an arm slung protectively over his figure, a broad chest against which his cheek is pressed, along with a gentle heartbeat that plays like a soulful melody to his ears. He leans away slightly, just enough to get a good look at his lover’s sleeping features.

The state of tranquillity Mingyu is currently in is evident from the relaxed lines of his dark brows. For once, they are not taut in concentration the way they do whenever he hovers over the hood of his car, trying to figure out ways to make it go faster.

Faster again, faster always.

But here, in this bed, with Wonwoo’s body locked in a solid embrace, Mingyu is still. Still as water on a river left unbothered, still as leaves at the highest of branches on a day with no wind.

Faster always, except now with a pause.

“When I’m with you, I wish time goes by slowly,” is Mingyu's choice of confession for the night.

Coming from someone who used to draw pleasure solely from velocity and acceleration, the racer’s message to him was clear as day. _I love you. I’m devoted to you. You’re the axis my universe revolves around._ Mingyu tells him these words, too, for he lacks the emotional reticence to keep them inside his head, especially when it comes to Wonwoo.

 _I think love him, too_.

No, scratch that, Wonwoo knows it for a fact.

He trails his index finger across the line of Mingyu’s jaw before he stops at the younger’s chin, tilting his face down so he can plant a close-mouthed kiss on those pink, plump lips that have never failed to bring him to the edge of sanity. Wonwoo gives him a peck, nothing more than that, but Mingyu stirs gently upon the feather-light contact. His eyes flutter open only to close again right after.

“Hmm?” Mingyu’s face inches closer to Wonwoo’s, chasing the mouth that was pressed against his moments ago. “What’s going on?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Mmm.” He rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of the traces of sleep caking the corners. “What does it look like?”

“Sorry,” offers Wonwoo sincerely, since he really had no intention of disrupting Mingyu’s rest. As a consolation, he slips a leg between Mingyu’s own and caresses his calf with the heel of his feet. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

This time Mingyu’s eyes open long enough for them to fully focus on Wonwoo’s face. “That’s one thing you should never apologise for.”

So Wonwoo kisses him again, unapologetically this time. He presses closer to Mingyu who tightens the arm he has around his middle and licks back into his mouth with the same kind of eagerness building inside Wonwoo himself. Wonwoo’s own hands come up to frame Mingyu’s face before they slide across his nape, his body arching into Mingyu’s.

A beautiful, tight curve.

“What time is it?” asks Mingyu upon separation, his voice breathy and wrecked just from the simple act of kissing.

Wonwoo smiles to himself. He supposes it would make him a liar to say he doesn’t fully enjoy the extent of his power over the younger.

It’s a little bit like this:

One call, when the stars are glittering high in the dark sky, just as they’re about to turn themselves to bed on opposite sides of the city. Wonwoo teasing him, _wish I could kiss you goodnight_ , Mingyu ending the call right after only to show up at his front door barely ten minutes later to fulfil Wonwoo’s wish before he goes away again. They have to be smart about their relationship and yet Wonwoo finds himself indulging in these little, silly things because of the contentment they bring him.

One look across the parking lot after a scene and Mingyu would trip over his own feet to get into his car, patience scattered in the night air. He’d speed off back to his place twice as fast as he had driven during the race. Wonwoo would find him waiting on the bed, back against the headboard and fist tight around his cock, Wonwoo’s name spilling from his parted lips like a prayer. Sometimes he’d be in the shower instead, the sound of running water offered as a clue to his whereabouts. That and the wide opening of the door to the ensuite bathroom both serve as a wordless invitation for Wonwoo to join him.

One word of command and Mingyu obeys him without a second thought; it’s in his nature to please Wonwoo in every way possible. The way he was built since the beginning, the base code of his innate programming. Wonwoo says _please_ and Mingyu unravels. All the serpentine threads and loops that make the man unwind until Mingyu is nothing but a bared soul prostrated at Wonwoo’s feet. What Wonwoo chooses to do with him is entirely in his discretion.

He wonders if Mingyu knows the reverse is also true.

“Fuck o’clock, I think,” he answers finally, hand trailing down Mingyu’s chest before his fingers form a loose circle around his shaft.

Now, one might think Wonwoo’s heart would know better than to skip a beat whenever he hears Mingyu’s laugh nowadays, that it has built up a tolerance to something its owner has been exposed to repeatedly, but _no_ , of course it still stupidly picks up its pace every time.

“Alright, baby,” Mingyu murmurs his assent onto Wonwoo’s temple. “Have your way with me. I’m all yours.”

Wonwoo grins at that, satisfied with the answer though he expects nothing less from Mingyu to begin with. He kisses his way down Mingyu’s body, leaving a trail of red marks in the shape of his mouth wherever he goes. In a sense, it’s quite similar to what the kids in that one fairytale did with breadcrumbs. Instead of going his demise like the children were, though, Wonwoo’s final destination is Mingyu’s cock. He imagines it’ll be just as sweet as the witch’s house—it was made of candy, was it not?

Except, the moment he closes his mouth around the head, someone’s phone rings.

“Ugh, shit.” Wonwoo glances up at Mingyu and frowns. “Is that your phone? I’m going to—”

“It’s yours,” says Mingyu, lifting the vibrating object from the nightstand.

Hell no. Whatever hour this is, Wonwoo has declared it fuck o’clock and it will continue to be fuck o’clock until both of them climax at least once. It’s definitely not his business hour, so whoever is on the other side of the line will simply have to wait.

“Then throw it against the wall, please.”

He takes Mingyu into his mouth again, resting the heaviness against his tongue, and the younger’s hips give a little jerk. His length is finally stretching Wonwoo’s lips the way he likes it, but a second later Mingyu’s fingers weave into his hair and tug with enough force to lift his head up.

Mingyu looks at him with an undecipherable expression. Wonwoo’s phone is held out in his hand. “It’s Jeonghan.”

As an automated response to those two words, Wonwoo straightens his back and takes the phone from Mingyu's extended hand. He brings his thumb to the _accept_ button and presses down on the screen before raising the phone to his face.

“Yes?”

 _“Emergency._ ” Jeonghan’s voice is level but there’s a strange, eerie undertone to it. A masked sense of urgency anyone else would miss from his disposition, but not Wonwoo. Never Wonwoo. “ _I need you here._ ”

Mingyu’s hand wrap around Wonwoo’s upper arm to get him to move back up the bed and he does, allowing himself to be pulled up by the younger. As soon as he’s back into Mingyu’s space, there are close-mouthed kisses delivered to the side of his face, underneath his jaw, right below his ear.

The ministrations are rather careful in a way that Mingyu doesn’t mean it as a prologue to love-making as much as a last-ditch attempt to get Wonwoo to stay despite whatever is about to get him to leave.

“Where’s here?”

A pause followed by a faint scuffling in the background comes through the line from Jeonghan’s side of the call. Wonwoo thinks he might have heard Junhui’s voice, but he isn’t 100 per cent sure.

Then, Jeonghan breathes out a low, _“Seungcheol’s,_ ” and Wonwoo goes from sleepy and horny to fully alert as his intuition is confirmed.

He has a strong feeling that something is very, very wrong here.

“Be there in 15.”

Wonwoo ends the call after that and turns to Mingyu, who’s resting his head above the pillow with an inquisitive look on his face. He lifts his chin and the question in his mind becomes rather perceptible to Wonwoo. Question _s_ , plural, to be precise. Unfortunately, same as always, Wonwoo’s not one at liberty to give him the answers he wants.

“Sorry, Gyu,” Wonwoo gives his lover parting kiss on the lips before he swings both legs off the bed, scrambling to find his long-discarded pants somewhere on the floor. “I gotta go.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

Mingyu sits up on the bed and props a pillow behind him. “Then what did Jeonghan tell you?”

“You know it’s better if I don’t let you in on it.”

“Ah, not this talk again.”

He moves to plant his feet on the tiled floor of his bedroom, hands gripping the edge of the mattress and eyes fixed on Wonwoo’s figure. If Mingyu stands up and comes closer to him, he’ll tower over Wonwoo with ease because of their height difference, but much to Wonwoo’s disappointment he doesn’t do it.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’d rather know everything even if it puts me at risk? I hate being kept in the dark like this. It’s not like I’m a boring office worker who sits behind a desk from 9 to 5. What exactly do you think—”

It’s all too easy to see where this conversation is heading: another one of their heated arguments Wonwoo more often than not avoids by clashing their mouths together. While the crux of the matter is clear to the two of them, that doesn’t mean the problem is easily solved. Wonwoo’s reluctance to share information about his business and Mingyu’s non-understanding of his rationale behind it have of late become nothing but an endless loop of bitter dissensions and make-up sex.

Not wanting things to escalate, Wonwoo cuts him off. “Mingyu, come on. I don’t wanna fight,” he tries to bargain. “Don’t wanna leave you like this.”

He finds his shirt in the pile of discarded clothing—almost trips over it, really—so he bends down to get it too.

“But you are leaving.” His voice shakes subtly and Wonwoo’s response to it is immediate.

He swivels around to find Mingyu’s eyes. “I’ll be back.”

Mingyu gaze shifts to the floor as he avoids Wonwoo’s look. It tugs at Wonwoo’s heartstrings, the sight of him like this—curled into himself, so small for someone so broad.

“Hey, you know I’ll come back to you. At the end of every finish line, I’ll find you.”

Mingyu lifts his face once again, allowing Wonwoo one final sight to his heavenly features.

“I love you,” the younger declares boldly, desperation dripping from his honest admission.

Wonwoo’s gut twists.

When he replies with a simple, “Yeah,” instead of telling Mingyu _I love you too_ right there and then for the very first time, Mingyu’s expression crumbles like a sandcastle that’s washed away by a large wave. Ever so beautiful but so, so delicate.

It’s not that he doesn’t share the sentiment, and it’s definitely not that he doesn’t want to tell Mingyu how he feels. He wants to, he wants to so badly, but the moment just doesn’t feel right to him. He doesn’t want the confession to feel like a _goodbye_ instead of a _hello_ , doesn’t want to say it when they’re not at their happiest.

Mingyu shakes his head and turns away from Wonwoo, lying back down on the bed and pulling the covers up to his shoulders. _Conversation over_ , he means. Wonwoo ignores the dull ache inside his chest as he gets out of Mingyu’s room and moves on autopilot until he finds himself behind the wheel of the Mustang.

Key into ignition.

He only has thirteen minutes left to get to Jeonghan.

But even with time running out in the hourglass, Wonwoo keeps to his post-Mingyu routines. He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the noteworthy silver chain, secures the item around his neck before he tucks the customary dog tag at the end of the loop underneath the collar of his shirt. The metal is cold against his skin, the sensation jarring enough to erase the last bits of fatigue from his body. Wonwoo gives Mingyu’s place one last lingering look before he drives off into the night.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

The light inside Seungcheol’s garage is on when Wonwoo gets there, but the main house is in complete darkness. The garage it is, it seems. He squeezes himself through the small gap between the bottom of the roller door and the ground, patting himself clean of dirt when he’s back on his feet again. Surprise isn’t a word Wonwoo would use to describe how he feels when he spots Jeonghan in presence of company.

“What’s going on?”

Junhui is the one to answer him. “Seungcheol is missing.”

“But we saw him this morning,” Wonwoo looks at Jeonghan, who’s busy studying the swirls on the surface of the polished wooden table he’s leaning against. He grips at the edges of the table so tight his knuckles are the colour of bone. “Jeonghan, we saw him this morning.”

He can practically see the gears turning inside Jeonghan head. Turning at such a speed, such an intensity, that he has no capacity to hold a conversation while he’s putting his mind to work.

“His tracking chip is off,” Junhui says again when he realises Jeonghan doesn’t plan on joining their little exchange any time soon.

Despite Junhui matter-of-fact tone, Wonwoo possesses no knowledge of any tracking chip whatsoever.

So he asks, “What tracking chip?” good-naturedly and Junhui’s features contort in a mixture of exasperation and relief.

It would have been an unattractive look on anyone else, but the Chinese wears it like any other expression in his playbook: elegantly.

“Oh good, at least someone didn’t know about the supposedly _secret_ precautionary measure.” He lifts a hand to the back of his neck and taps his nape with his index finger. “It’s the one he has implanted here in case things ever go awry.”

“And… what? You think things are going awry as we speak?”

Junhui stares at him like Wonwoo’s the biggest idiot he’s ever seen. He would’ve taken offence to that on a bad night, but Jeonghan is still silent and that means they have more pressing matters that require attending to. Wonwoo jamming the heel of his palm up Junhui’s face to displace his high nose-bridge to a different, less perfect angle is probably only going to add to the headache.

“His phone is off, his tracking chip is off, he hasn’t been to any of the places we think he might be. I know years in this business didn’t make me an optimist.”

“Okay.” Wonwoo nods, trying to shake off his vexation.

He didn’t leave Mingyu alone to warm a cold bed only to hold petty squabbles with Junhui.

“What do we do, then? How do we trace his steps? Seungcheol left our place before 7 this morning, drank scalding-hot coffee like a lunatic before he drove off as usual. There wasn’t…” he trails off, eyeing Jeonghan again, “I don’t think there was anything off about him.”

“There’s this guy I know,” says Junhui, crossing his arms over his chest. “He can hack into the city’s surveillance cameras, including traffic cams. If we can follow Seungcheol’s car, we might be able to find out where he was headed to.”

“What are still doing here?” Wonwoo moves toward the roller door again, ready to slide himself underneath the gap once again. “Let’s go.”

Junhui’s voice stops him. “The guy’s name is Lee Chan.”

The words hit Wonwoo like armour-piercing bullets. They’re the kind that feels heavy even on the palm of one’s hands; imagine the power with which they penetrate through skin and flesh. Funny enough, the impact from Junhui’s revelation doesn’t cause Wonwoo to reel, instead he stands there, petrified to his spot, feeling utterly betrayed by his most trusted confidant. Has it really come to this? Jeonghan using Wonwoo’s relationship with Mingyu as another tool in his perusal?

“That’s why I’m here,” he says flatly.

A crackle buzzes in the air, but it seems to fly directly over Junhui’s head.

“Call your boyfriend and tell him you need a favour from one of his subordinates.”

He glares at Jeonghan, though the older still intent on avoiding his gaze at any costs. It makes sense now—if their eyes had met earlier Wonwoo would have been able to gauge Jeonghan’s intention from his guilt-ridden orbs. As he counts backwards from three, Wonwoo brings his hands into fists and presses them against the side of his thighs.

“No.”

Junhui tilts his head to the right. “ _No?_ ”

He has the same gleam of danger in his eyes as the one Wonwoo sees reflected from Seungcheol’s own far too often. What else do the two men have in common? Is Junhui perhaps as impetuous as Seungcheol is? Will he make Wonwoo pay for his outright refusal?

Whatever the price is, Wonwoo will grant him all that he asks, may it be gold or his lifeblood. As long as Mingyu is as far away as he can be from this situation, he will give Junhui everything. Whatever perils await them on their path to finding Seungcheol, one thing is for sure: they’re not for Mingyu to find out.

“You heard me.” His nails dig into his palm, forming scarlet crescents. “No.”

“Are you—”

“If he says no, then it’s a no,” Jeonghan interjects, finally opening his mouth to contribute to the discussion. His eyes land on Wonwoo’s and their gazes interlock. Jeonghan gives him a small nod. _I got you_. “What alternative do we have, Junhui?”

Perhaps it’s the display of Jeonghan’s unflinching loyalty to Wonwoo and the respect he has for his decision that has the tension leaving his body in slow waves. Junhui heaves out a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair, biting down on his lower lip in concentration hard enough that the soft flesh turns white where his teeth dig into it. Wonwoo understands fully well the gravity of the situation presented in front of him, how crucial it is that they track Seungcheol down while his trail hasn’t gone cold.

Just because he’s drawn a line where Mingyu is concerned, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to help. He wants Seungcheol found just as much as the other two do.

“You don’t need an alternative,” Wonwoo tells them, breaking the momentary silence. “I’ll get Chan to do it without bringing Mingyu into this.”

“So you won’t ask for Kim Mingyu's permission but you will undermine his authority by going straight to Lee Chan?” Junhui asks him, lips pressed to a thin line. He looks at Wonwoo with wariness, but it’s not like Wonwoo expects him to understand. “This will just end up with more trouble for us.”

“Will it?” Jeonghan questions.

“No, it won’t. Trust me.”

He turns to Junhui and tells him, “I trust Wonwoo.”

Junhui rolls his eyes. “I don’t suppose I have a choice. Lee Chan’s place—”

“I know where it is,” cuts Wonwoo. They shouldn’t waste so much time talking. “I’ll drive, come on.”

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

The moment the door to Chan’s place swings open to reveal the person of interest on the other side, dressed in his rocket-patterned pyjamas and his cotton candy hair sticking out in all directions from all the martial arts he’s been practising in his sleep, Wonwoo knows he has to downright _beg_ to get the younger man to agree with this.

“Channie.”

Oh, that sounds like a plea already. Off to a good start, aren’t they?

“Wonwoo-hyung,” Chan returns his greeting before his focus shifts to the men standing behind Wonwoo.

He assesses their dishevelled state for a moment, then comments, “This doesn’t seem like a friendly visit.”

“I need your help.”

“Okay, let’s talk.” He steps aside to allow Wonwoo and his companions inside. “It’s freezing out there.”

Jeonghan is the last through the door. After him, Chan puts the double-lock back in place and reactivates his alarm system, punching codes into a small keypad so fast Wonwoo can barely catch a digit. He knows Chan is brilliant, more than anyone’s ever given him credit for, but there’s a reasonable explanation behind his public under-appreciation. Mingyu keeps him mostly in the dark and gives him only menial tasks in daylight when other people stand to witness with keen eyes, as one word of Chan’s actual value to his crew and there’ll be a long line of people trying to steal him away.

Back when things where much simpler, Mingyu had tried to steal _Wonwoo_ away. In more than one way, he succeeded.

“I’ll speak to Wonwoo-hyung alone, if that’s cool with everyone.”

Though there’s a protest in Junhui’s eyes at the verge of being vocalised, in the end he keeps his mouth shut and simply shrugs. Wonwoo looks at Jeonghan, who gives him a curt nod and nothing else. Chan nods too, satisfied with the consensus they’ve managed to arrive at, then he leads Wonwoo to the adjacent room to talk.

Wonwoo fills Chan in on what they require of him as fast as he can get the syllables rolling off his tongue. The younger listens to him intently, absorbing every detail of Wonwoo’s request with some effort. The lack of concentration is easily attributed to drowsiness, but Chan looks awake enough to follow through with the task at hand should he choose to help them.

“Let me get this straight,” he recaps, taking everything in, “you want me to assist you in finding Choi Seungcheol, who’s apparently gone missing sometime in the last 24 hours and the place he was last seen is on the grounds of your compound at the break of dawn?”

He nods, hopeful. Chan has a soft spot for him ever since the beginning of his relationship with Mingyu. Wonwoo’s well aware of it. It may be manipulative to leverage the fact against him, but under these circumstances—he prays that the ends justify the means in this case.

“They brought you here for this,” Chan says idly as though Wonwoo’s unaware of the fact. “A way to get to me.” He taps his fingers on the surface of the table, immersed in his thoughts. “Wen Junhui, I get. But Yoon Jeonghan…?”

“He has a vested interest in this.”

“Hyung, I like you.” Oh, great. That makes Wonwoo feel even worse for coming here at this ungodly hour. “You make Mingyu-hyung happy like never before, which is something I’ll always be grateful for. And for that alone, I will do this for you at the cost of nothing.”

He holds his breath. Chan is at the precipice of sympathising with them enough to aid them. Then, just as quickly as he makes Wonwoo thinks that he’s managed to persuade him, Chan proves him wrong.

“But if you’re asking me to keep Mingyu-hyung in the dark about this, the favour becomes something neither of us can afford. I’m sorry, but I won’t do it.”

Wonwoo admires him for his loyalty more than anything else. Chan knows where he stands on the matter and betraying Mingyu in any form or function is not something he can tolerate. He understands, trust him—devotion toward Kim Mingyu is something the two of them have in common. Although the cause behind the feeling is different for each of them, the similarity is something Wonwoo can use to support his appeal.

It’s not in his plans at all to resort to this, but nothing in regard to Mingyu has ever been anything short of a pleasant surprise. And that includes the events of tonight, too.

“I’m not asking you not to tell him.” Wonwoo sees Chan’s expression begins to waver at his words, the first sign of his resistance crumbling. “I’m asking you to find Seungcheol first before you do. Give me a couple of hours head start before you make a phone call to him, that’s all. Please.”

“What difference does that make?”

Even the fact that he poses the question is a tell to Wonwoo that he’s a step closer to acceptance.

“It makes all the difference,” Wonwoo allows him the truth in the subtlest form. “I don’t want him getting hurt on my account, Channie.”

Chan’s gaze peers into Wonwoo’s eyes and he takes a moment to search for something there.

He must have found whatever it is he’s looking for, because the next thing Wonwoo knows, he’s saying, “Okay. I’ll do it,” as he goes to retrieve his laptop.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

They exit Chan’s residence barely twenty minutes later with the information they came for and a promise secured that Chan will set an alarm for two hours into the future. Wonwoo asks him one more thing, to tell Mingyu on his behalf that he doesn’t want him anywhere near this mess unless Wonwoo calls for him, and Chan, being the kind soul he is, agrees to fulfil that request too. After all of this is done and dusted, Wonwoo makes a mental note to treat him out for the best meat this city has to offer.

He’s pulled out from his train of thought by Junhui’s offended, “What do you mean, we’re not going there?”

At some point tonight, Junhui’s bound for an explosion. The veins on his neck are bulging out, voice strained and heavy from his frustration. Wonwoo would be too if he were in Junhui’s shoes, there’s no need for him to walk a mile in them to arrive at that conclusion. They have all the necessary information they need to come up with a rescue plan for Seungcheol, and now Jeonghan is putting the brakes on all possibility of it being carried out.

“Let’s think about this rationally.”

“I’m the one not thinking rationally?” demands Junhui, pointing a finger at himself. The car jostles in his overreaction. “We got his location and we’re doing shit to act on it!”

“Baekho’s fortress has a back entrance, the one tucked away in an alley. A blind spot for surveillance cameras,” Jeonghan reiterates patiently.

 _He’s back,_ Wonwoo thinks as he gazes at his leader. _Back in control_.

“That’s right,” Wonwoo confirms the fact when Jeonghan’s brown eyes land on him.

Junhui is silent for once, though that just means he’s also aware of the existence of the hidden entryway.

“Good, you two know this too,” Jeonghan concludes. “I think it’s safe to assume Seungcheol has the same knowledge.”

“Which begs the question: why did he come through the front door?” He inserts a pause here; Wonwoo suspects not only for dramatic purposes, but also to drive his point home. “Think about it. Although his tracking chip is off, finding him wasn’t that big of a feat. Well, maybe for Wonwoo, but not for us in general, right?”

Well, thanks very much for that acknowledgement, Jeonghan.

Junhui huffs, his breath blowing the bangs that have fallen into his eyes in his vigour to voice out his objections.

“Just get to the point.”

“He wants us to know where he is,” Wonwoo promptly realises, “as well as the circumstances of his disappearance.”

“Bingo.”

There’s pride in the look Jeonghan’s throwing in his direction. _That’s my boy._ He gets like these sometimes, when Wonwoo’s on top of his game and gets to the answer after Jeonghan does and before anyone else in the room can come even close. It’s the satisfaction of a master whose protege is getting better and better every day at his craft.

“If his tracking chip was activated, we’d get a location immediately but not the fact that he went there willingly.”

The elaboration is more for Junhui’s sake rather than Wonwoo’s; it’s obvious from the way Jeonghan’s body is angled toward the other man as he continues to talk.

“We’d come to the hasty conclusion that he was taken by force because there’s no business to link your groups together right now and it’s beyond stupid to pay lions a visit in their own nest for no good reason.”

“Beyond stupid sounds like an awful lot Seungcheol.” Junhui eyes Jeonghan with caution as he says it, preparing himself should Jeonghan takes offence to that, but he pays him no mind. “You’re saying he doesn’t want us to interfere.”

“That’s right, he doesn’t.”

“Fucking hell,” the Chinese throws his hands in the air, a gesture of surrender. “Fine.” He leans back against his seat momentarily, then a second later he’s opening the car door.

“What are you doing?” asks Wonwoo.

“Just making some calls, relax,” Junhui tells him, one foot already out of the car. “I’m going to find out why he went there in the first place.”

He slams the car door unnecessarily hard and walks a fair distance away from the car before pulling his phone out of his pocket. It leaves just Jeonghan and Wonwoo alone, the way it was at the beginning of times. The way it hasn’t been for a while, the way it will never be again. They have loved ones now, a concept that would have been strange to 15-year-old Wonwoo who vowed never to have strings attached to him again.

Now Jeonghan is different, too. He’s some of the things he said he’d never be because of Seungcheol. Not all changes are bad, and not everything changes, either. For example, the way he brings his thumb to his mouth and bites it gently to relieve some of his agitations is still the same. Jeonghan is older, he’s wiser, but he is still the same Jeonghan that puts food in front of Wonwoo and a roof over his head when no one else would.

Wonwoo knows him, the burden he carries in his heart at the turn of today’s events. Seungcheol was the definition of picture-perfect this morning. He’d ruffled Jeonghan’s hair before walking out the door, the usual amount of playful roughness put into the action, and now neither of them has any idea how he might be holding up as a captive. Seungcheol is smack in the middle of enemy territory and Jeonghan has been given an implicit instruction not to come to his aid.

In a similar fashion, that’s what Wonwoo had in mind for Mingyu. When he thought they’d be breaking in _and_ breaking Seungcheol out of Baekho’s headquarters, he had left Chan with the same message for Mingyu.

_Don’t come for me._

The guilt is heavy on Jeonghan’s shoulders, manifesting in the rigid lines of his body. Would Mingyu feel the same way when he gets Wonwoo’s memo?

“You didn’t miss anything,” Wonwoo offers him solace.

It might not be much, but he has to try.

“You don’t know that.”

“We both know he’s spontaneous from the get-go,” he tries again, hoping that maybe the second time around he’ll get through to Jeonghan. “It can be something he decided to do the moment he got behind the wheel or when he stopped at a traffic light. There’s no telling with Seungcheol.”

Jeonghan chuckles darkly. “It’s funny…” he trails off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with air to their maximum capacity.

Wonwoo looks at the lavender freshener Mingyu insisted on attaching to his air conditioner. He said the scent is supposed to be calming and Wonwoo didn’t understand what he was supposed to be calming down _from_ , but look where they are now. Even when he didn’t fully intend to, Mingyu is helpful to those around him.

There are some lights Wonwoo needs to protect and Mingyu’s star is one of them.

“We’ve done terrible things to get where we are right now, some would even say we’re terrible people. But the thought of a bruise put on his body that he didn’t give his consent to makes me see fucking red.” The leader rubs a hand across his face and muffles out a sigh into his palm. “Hard to think clearly right now.”

“If you knew,” Wonwoo begins, pausing for a short moment to choose his next words carefully. “If you knew that your feelings for him would have this much power over you, would you have still let them grow?”

Jeonghan’s head snaps toward Wonwoo and his gaze sharpens again. Piercing. Not a single indication that it has ever softened or that it _was_ soft seconds ago.

“The possibility that every day might well be our very last is all the more reason to love fiercely, Wonwoo.”

Those words echo inside Wonwoo’s head again and again until they sink into his stream of consciousness and settle there. It clears his mind of other less important things, litters of insignificant details blurring into the background. He reaches for his necklace and toys with the chain until Junhui returns to the car, empty-handed and all the more frustrated by it.

Wonwoo drives them all back to Seungcheol’s to get some rest, but he does so on auto-pilot, as his mind can only focus on a singular thought: how much he misses Mingyu.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

A couple of days later, Junhui’s search for answers still gets them nowhere. No one seems to know why Seungcheol voluntarily surrendered himself to an opposing force. With each night that passes since he’s been gone, Jeonghan spirals further into darkness. Wonwoo fears there might not be enough of him to return to the light when Seungcheol comes back to them, _if_ Seungcheol comes back to them. Junhui is distraught, too, close to losing his composure on so many different occasions.

Wonwoo navigates around the two of them with the utmost care possible, not wanting to set off any triggers. He had to pry Jeonghan’s fingers off his phone when he tried to put _Jisoo_ in charge in both their absence, as well as switch Junhui’s coffee with his when the Chinese dumped two spoonfuls of white grains from a container labelled _salt_ into his cup without even blinking.

They wait for what feels like an eternity for any updates and in that period, Mingyu calls him a grand total of zero times. There are no texts from him, either, which stings more than it should. Wonwoo understands he has to grovel for forgiveness later—just, the possible loss that’s surrounding him constantly has him yearning for Mingyu’s smile, his touch, _anything_.

Finally, on the third night, there’s a loud sound of an engine revving outside Seungcheol's compound, followed by a dull thud of something— _someone_ —being dropped on the pavement right where the driveway ends. Jeonghan is the first to dash toward the source of the commotion, Junhui right on his tail. Wonwoo walks at a much slower pace because he isn’t sure what to expect.

A body, for sure, but is it one with a detectable heartbeat?

When he's finally standing on the front porch he finds both Jeonghan and Junhui still there, stuck to their spots right at the top of stairs. Seungcheol is standing in the middle of the ramp and it’s apparent to Wonwoo that he’s taken a severe beating during his time away. His blue hair is matted with dried blood to the point that Wownwoo could no longer tell the original colour. A rough-looking cut above his left brow is accompanied by a fully swollen eye right underneath. On top of that, he’s clutching his ribs like they’ve broken a number of them.

Jeonghan’s footsteps down the steps reverberate inside Wonwoo’s skull. He makes his way to Seungcheol like the older man is the centre of his gravity; a pull drawing him forth. Under the dimmed lighting the moon provides them with tonight, Wonwoo sees a hint of a weak smile on Seungcheol’s lips upon Jeonghan’s approach.

“You took a vacation without me,” says Jeonghan as he wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s middle to support his weight.

His voice frail and muted like Wonwoo’s never heard before. Gone is the sharp, cutting edge of the diamond forged under hellfire and critical pressure, this Jeonghan might as well be offering Seungcheol his heart, all raw and bloody but packaged neatly in a gift box.

“So—” Seungcheol coughs and it sounds painful.

“Don’t talk. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Seungcheol slumps forward and leans his full weight against Jeonghan, who struggles a little to prop him up. “Sorry.” The word sounds foreign coming from Seungcheol, like he isn’t used to saying it. “I knew you’d understand so I…”

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan calls out, speaking over Seungcheol and shaking Wonwoo out of his trance. “Help me get him inside.” He rushes to get to Seungcheol’s empty side and carefully hooks the older’s arm around his neck.

Seungcheol coughs again and there are droplets of red splattered on the ground. Wonwoo ignores it and moves in coordination with Jeonghan to avoid doing more damage to Seungcheol by making him stand upright for a moment longer. Junhui holds the door open for them as they bring the wounded man into the common area.

Jeonghan holds his questions until Seungcheol’s laid down on the couch, a pillow propped under his head and a bag of frozen peas from the freezer put against his injured eye. His shirt has been cut off because it’s too much work pulling it over his head and Wonwoo assesses quickly that his ribs are only bruised, not broken.

Then, he starts with a simple, “What happened?”

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

Occam’s razor states that the simplest explanation is often times the correct one. That doesn’t seem to apply here, because there’s nothing simple about Seungcheol’s line of reasoning.

There’s a new kid in his crew, he explained through ragged breath, said kid got into an argument with the wrong man and lost. He ended up slashing his opponent’s tires when the man wasn’t looking, not knowing that the man was Minki, one of Baekho’s top lieutenants.

Since it’s an unspoken rule amongst their gangs that no man should touch another man’s ride, much less impair it, what the kid did was well out of line.

Baekho demanded the name of the kid and told Seungcheol if he could get it himself faster than Seungcheol is willing to give it to him, the kid would need a plaque ordered for his grave. Obviously, in Seungcheol’s own brand of twisted logic, the only thing to do is offer himself up in the kid’s place.

And now, he refuses to let them know his name.

“Kids make mistakes,” he reasons. “I’ll handle it myself later.”

For once, Wonwoo isn’t surprised by Seungcheol’s choice. If he’s gone through far more extreme lengths to conceal the kid’s identity, the three men gathering around the couch who are unlikely to hurt him probably won’t make him give it up.

Still, his turndown caused Junhui to storm out of the place while swearing up and down that he'd find it out for himself.

“Hannie-ya…” Seungcheol calls softly after the front door slams close in Junhui’s wake.

 _Hannie-ya_.

No one's called Jeonghan that in a long time.

Wonwoo looks out the window as Jeonghan kneels next to the couch until his face is levelled with Seungcheol’s.

“Do you even know the kid’s name yourself? Did you check Baekho’s claims properly before you decided to go to him?”

Out of desperation, or perhaps just shock from seeing Seungcheol in this state, Jeonghan is reaching for something that isn’t there. Baekho is not the type of man who makes baseless accusations for entertainment purposes. For him to call Seungcheol directly before taking action is already a show of respect for Seungcheol’s authority. More than what Wonwoo’s shown Mingyu, even.

Wonwoo’s hand absentmindedly comes up to his necklace.

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol says instead of answering Jeonghan’s questions. The reassurance is followed by a wheeze, a painful one by the sound of it. “I’m fine. Takes a lot more to put me down.”

There’s a small sound after Seungcheol’s words, Jeonghan’s reflection on the glass leaning forward to kiss the blue-haired man on the forehead. He lingers for a moment after pulling away, a moment spent caressing Seungcheol’s face with gentle fingers, then he rises from his position.

“Look after him for a bit?” he asks Wonwoo, who turns to face him and nods his agreement in return. “I have to call Jihoon to come to patch him up properly.”

Wonwoo takes a seat on the chair opposite to the couch, occupying Jeonghan’s previous spot. He expects Seungcheol to slip into unconsciousness considering the amount of painkillers he’d taken, but it turns out they take time to work. Seungcheol is watching him closely, attention fixed something on Wonwoo's shirt. The drawing perhaps, or the purple and white colours against a black background.

“I got blood on your shirt,” he points out, sounding a little apologetic about it.

So that’s what caught his attention. Wonwoo doesn’t look down to check the state of his shirt, he knows it must have been a result of Seungcheol coughing on the driveway.

“It’s fine,” he brushes off Seungcheol’s concern. “Rest.”

“You should cut it.”

Sounds like the incoherent rambling of a man doped up on morphine, though Wonwoo indulges him nonetheless. “Cut what?”

“The shirt.” Seungcheol swallows before he continues. He struggles with the motion but waves his hand around dismissively when Wonwoo tries to get closer to check on him. “It’s only at the hem, so cut that part off. Make it a short shirt.”

“I think you mean a crop top. It’s fine, Seungcheol, go to sleep.”

“Cut it, Wonwoo,” he insists.

The more Wonwoo pays close attention to him the more sure he is that Seungcheol isn’t in his right mind at the moment. Although his words aren’t slurred, he sounds like he’s speaking underwater. Almost as if his thoughts are battling inside his head, fighting to be released, and this is the one that he allows to come out.

One trivial notion in the sea of long-kept secrets.

“I’ll wash it later. White vinegar does the trick, how long do you think I’ve been dealing with blood stains for?”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow in his dissatisfaction with Wonwoo’s answer. “You can get rid of the stains but you’ll always know that they were there. So cut it, sew it in, give your boy a little treat, yeah?”

The simple mention of Mingyu has him relenting.

“If I say yes, will you get some rest?”

“You can try.”

“Okay, then I’ll cut it.”

At that, Seungcheol nods and finally closes his eyes.

It takes him another minute or two before his breathing evens out and he slips into a deep slumber. Wonwoo watches him, observes the steady rise and fall of his tattooed chest, and thinks about picking up the phone to call Mingyu.

He’s a coward again because he ends up deciding against it.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

_I’ll be back_ , Wonwoo told Mingyu, _I’ll come back to you_. Funny thing is, he never once expected the younger not to be there waiting where he left him.

Same as Seungcheol's case, no one seemed to know where Mingyu has gone. The only thing that keeps Wonwoo from losing his mind is the letter Seokmin handed him. It's written in Mingyu’s cursive left-hand and conveyed his intention to lay low for a little bit. The letter also said he’ll be back in time for the next race and if he doesn’t show up then, that’s when Seokmin should start worrying, but not a second sooner.

Wonwoo tried calling him, of course, but his efforts are all for nought. Every single time he gets redirected straight to voicemail and even then he has no reprieve from his suffering. The voice telling him to leave a message is automated, not something pre-recorded in Mingyu’s voice.

His soul began to ache after the first night from not hearing his lover’s voice—that low, lilting register of his—how did Wonwoo last three whole days without it? Seokmin even pitied him enough to offer him to stay in Mingyu’s room while he’s gone, but Wonwoo knew it would just amplify his pain.

A week goes by and Wonwoo’s only eating because Jeonghan is keeping a close eye on him. He craves for the food Mingyu cooks for him in the morning after a night spent making love, the little hearts he draws over the fried rice using ketchup, the smiley face he arranges on top of the pancake using blueberries.

None of his messages gets delivered.

The red exclamation marks that sign his failure has Wonwoo going from upset to angry to _livid_ by the second Monday and he throws himself into getting Archangel ready for the next scene. Myungho comes to check on him every once in a while and only loiters around the garage a sufficient amount as to not make Wonwoo feel like he’s being babied.

Then the day of the race arrives.

Mingyu stays true to his words to Seokmin. He rolls around in his Camaro like he always does, cutting it close to the start of the race. There’s a couple of cars separating the two of them, but Wonwoo suspects Mingyu will keep him at arm’s lengths even if they’re right next to each other. He won’t let his guard down before Wonwoo apologises properly, but it’s enough assurance for Wonwoo to see the wolf painted on the side of Mingyu’s helmet staring back at him when he turns his gaze in the younger’s direction.

 _Let this be over soon_ , Wonwoo prays to whatever higher power exists in this world, s _o that I can see Mingyu at the end of it_.

Wonwoo kisses the dog tag on his necklace, then fixes his hands on the steering wheel. He hovers his foot over the gas pedal, waiting for the flag to drop; the signal to the start of the rally. When it does, Mingyu flies half a second earlier than Wonwoo’s response time and he swears under his breath. Half a second at the start is all a good racer needs to finish first and Mingyu is as good as one can get in racing.

Despite giving it his best and smoothly overtaking Soonyoung’s path near the end to push Archangel in front of the blonde’s car, Wonwoo places second. That result does no damage to his pride, because he lost to Mingyu.

What feels like a punch to the gut is this: after he crosses the finish line, Mingyu doesn’t slow down.

He doesn’t pull over and celebrate the win with Seokmin, who’s waiting for him on the sidelines with Hansol and the rest of his members. Mingyu just continues on driving—no intent on losing momentum—until he makes a sharp turn at the intersection and vanishes out of everyone’s sight.

Wonwoo—well, Wonwoo keeps to his post-race routines because his routines are important to him. He has to return Archangel to Jeonghan regardless of how tempting it is just to chase Mingyu to the ends of the Earth in it.

Jeonghan comes to lean on his open window when he finally puts the gear in park.

“You two fighting?”

There’s no need to confirm who he’s referring to.

“No way you can tell that just from the way he drove,” Wonwoo responds, taking his helmet off, unbuckling his seatbelt next.

“Oh yes, I can.”

Wonwoo opens the door and Jeonghan takes a step backwards, allows him space to move out of Archangel.

“How?”

“Mingyu’s always driven with emotion, right? For a long time it was confidence, bordering on insolent hubris, really.” Wonwoo says nothing to that, only waits for him to continue. Jeonghan leans against Archangel’s side, long legs stretched in front of him, posture relaxed. “Then, after you got back into racing, his anchor changed to excitement. Like a kid playing with their best friend, he just likes the fact that you’re going along with him, never mind who wins or loses.”

“And what was it tonight?” He responds more than just to indulge Jeonghan, seeing as he might provide some useful insights for Wonwoo through this conversation. “Anger?”

“No,” Jeonghan shakes his head as though he’s just put forth a silly suggestion. “It was determination. He’s trying to a prove a point, but what that point is I’ll leave it to you to figure out.”

See? Useful.

“I think I messed up.”

“Fix it, then.”

Wonwoo twirls the chain around his neck with a finger. “What if he doesn’t want to see me right now?”

“Then he wouldn’t have shown up here tonight, you absolute idiot,” Jeonghan clucks his tongue, a hint of irritation in his features. “Love really made you stupid.” _Probably_. “How’d you fuck up?”

“The thing with Seungcheol…” He releases the necklace to run his fingers through his hair. It’s gotten a bit longer now and he was right that first night—Mingyu does appreciate being able to tug at it. “I decided he’s better off not knowing at first. Then push came to shove and Chan wouldn’t help us without Mingyu being included in the loop, so he found out anyway. He went away for a bit after that, didn’t let me know where.”

Jeonghan scoffs derisively to express his issue with Wonwoo’s stance. “ _You_ decided? Single-handedly?”

Wonwoo nods, hesitant.

“Awesome.” With the way the word is dipped in pure sarcasm, it’s clear that Jeonghan is mocking him. “So you infantilised a man, the leader of the second-largest group in the city at that, by telling the man he couldn’t make decisions for his adult self. If he wasn’t in love with you he would have punched you for overstepping like that.”

The idea is lost on Wonwoo, as in he tries to conjure the image in his head and comes up completely blank. Mingyu would never _ever_ raise a hand against him. He’s never even raised his _voice_ toward Wonwoo whenever they argue, it’d be impossible to even imagine Mingyu hurting him in a way Wonwoo doesn’t ask him to.

“Answer me this,” says Jeonghan, taking advantage of his silence to get an upper-hand. “What do you think we’ve done that Mingyu hasn’t? Rough waters we’ve navigated that he’s not familiar with as well?”

“But—”

Jeonghan isn’t having any of it tonight.

“No buts. Were you worried? When you didn’t know his whereabouts?”

All the questions being thrown at him and somehow, instead of answers to them, Wonwoo manages to come up with one of his own: Seungcheol had given Jeonghan not only the knowledge of but also access to his tracking chip. _Why_?

“Of course—”

“That’s how he feels whenever you walk out the door, then,” the older cuts in, shutting down any further argument from Wonwoo. “The taste of your own medicine is bitter, isn’t it? You shielding him from whatever you think he can’t handle it’s probably not half of the reassurance you think it is.”

Jeonghan pushes him by the shoulders to get Wonwoo out of his way, snatching Archangel’s keys from his hand and leaving Wonwoo to stare at him as he drives off.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

“Congratulations on winning,” Wonwoo says carefully the moment he’s inside Mingyu’s bedroom.

The racer is sitting on his bed, lower half stripped down to his boxers but the shirt he wears to the scene still clinging to his body, outlining his proportions perfectly. Wonwoo’s not a big fan of green or red or the two colour combined and still, he has to admit that Mingyu pulls the look off effortlessly. Somehow, he’s grown even more handsome with time, especially when he’s happy, the mirth he exudes seemingly making him glow.

Not tonight. Tonight, Mingyu’s light is dim. Pale cream streams instead of vibrant yellow rays.

“Thanks.”

Wonwoo’s heart shrinks at his icy tone. “That’s it?”

“Wonwoo, what do you want from me?”

He recalls how Mingyu had posed the same question the first night they slept together. He had Wonwoo’s face in his hands then, tilting it upward so that their eyes met. It’s a sweet recollection, entirely unlike the acerbic taste Wonwoo will no doubt associate to this exchange right here when his future self comes to revisit this moment.

“Do you not want me here?” he threads lightly for once.

They’re going to turn up the heat soon enough by the looks of it, there’s no use of setting his temper dial to the maximum now, it will just exhaust him before the climax of their quarrel comes. In Mingyu’s silence following his question, Wonwoo pushes himself off the door and walks to the window. It’s one of those vertical sliding ones, so Wonwoo lifts the bottom pane slightly to let some fresh air into the room.

Behind him, Mingyu makes a small frustrated noise. Wonwoo turns around to find him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’d be much easier if I didn’t want you here. But, thing is, even when you infuriate me, the one thing I know I want for sure is to hold you in my arms.”

A confession like that should have relieved some of Wonwoo’s tension, but it falls short on this occasion. He leans against the window’s stool and crosses his arms. The night wind caresses his exposed lower back, chilling sensation travelling up his spine.

“Then what are you saying?”

“You said you wanted to figure me out.” So Mingyu’s thinking about their first night, too. Is it because they’re about to share their last one together? “How’s that progress coming along?”

Progress?

Wonwoo knows how Mingyu likes his coffee now. The answer is: he doesn’t. He prefers tea, just like Wonwoo does, but the kind he drinks has a fruity scent and comes in bags in contrast to Wonwoo’s own loose leaves. There are two containers down in his kitchen, one for each one of them; a hot cup always waiting for Wonwoo above the countertop in the morning when he wakes up.

He understands how Mingyu drives, the flawless way he steers around a corner. The younger has a good intuition of where the racing line apex is, which means he’s quick to reduce his steering lock once he reaches that point. Under normal conditions, this strategy would result in a slower exit speed, but Mingyu is stubborn enough to find a way out of it. With the power under his hood, he increases his throttle immediately after crossing the clipping point. It gives him an advantage at every turn because that means he doesn’t need to slow down as much as others do. The more corners in a route, the more opportunity for Mingyu to lead them in seconds.

Perhaps most important above all, Wonwoo’s learned to speak Mingyu’s love language. His words of affirmation, the way they are always spoken reverently. The touches that linger; hand on Wonwoo’s hip while he passes by him, mouth brushing his nape in the early hours before dawn breaks, their legs tangled beneath a warm blanket. Mingyu’s acts of service—the list of which is never-ending.

It never occurred to him that maybe comprehension is an illusion his own feelings had led him to have. Much easier to accept that you’re worthy and deserving of someone’s unwavering devotion when you can say you know them inside and out—that you worship them as much as they worship you. All his conceptions about Mingyu, the things Wonwoo tells himself to be true, they might just be a result of him building his own sense of security.

“Is that why you won?” Wonwoo wonders aloud.

Why does it hurt so much to speak? He didn’t sign up for this twinge in his chest when he exchanged Archangel for himself.

“You want to parade around the fact that you’ve achieved goals after goals while I’m seemingly running around in circles? So you got me back behind the wheels, check. Analysed the way I drive to better yourself, check. Bested me in a race with your acquired knowledge, check.”

A metal tang coats his tongue. How foul.

“What now?” he demands hotly. “Are we running out of things to do?”

“If you think that,” Mingyu rises from the bed but remains standing next to it, making no move to approach Wonwoo as he continues, “then you’re not even remotely close to understanding.”

His tone is patronising enough to make Wonwoo snap. “What does that even mean!”

The gaze Mingyu gives him is so heavy, it almost has a physical form. If it did, it would take the shape of an arrowhead, or the tip of a spear, placed right above Wonwoo’s heart. Sharp and cold against his skin though it doesn’t quite break through. _Yet._

“It means you can leave if you want,” says Mingyu, shrugging his shoulder in graceful defeat. “You’re right. I did get you to ride again, I did get to learn things from the way you drive, and I did just win a race against you.”

Wonwoo waits for him to finish. He might not know Mingyu as well as he thought, but he can still tell when the younger’s got something left to say.

“I did all that—” Mingyu halts all of the sudden, fiddling with the pull tab of the zipper that stretches down the centre of his shirt. “I did all that, that’s true, but I still can’t make you trust me, can I? I can’t make you love me either.”

He can’t believe what his ears are hearing. Wonwoo lifts a hand to his chest, hoping that if puts his hand over his heart he can alleviate some of the excruciating pain. When he does so—his skin comes into contact with an object he’s forgotten to take off due to his haste of getting to Mingyu earlier. He looks down and finds the accessory staring back at him.

Wonwoo harshly removes the necklace by pulling it over his head, then proceeds to throw it right at Mingyu. It hits the younger in the chest before bouncing off to land sadly on the floor next to his feet.

“What—”

“Pick it up,” Wonwoo snaps and Mingyu scrambles to comply with his order. “Look at the tag.”

Whether the last invocation was a command or a plea, Wonwoo can no longer tell the difference. Thank God Mingyu sees it fit to follow through anyway.

“I know this sequence,” the younger mumbles softly, thumb tracing the numbers etched onto the surface of the metal. “The last 4 digits are mine… my plate number.”

 _I love you,_ Wonwoo thinks as he watches Mingyu with his head down, eyes fixed on the physical evidence of Wonwoo’s feelings toward him.

“The first three’s—” Wonwoo begins, but Mingyu doesn’t allow him to finish.

“Soonyoung’s Mazda.” His eyes find Wonwoo’s again and they’re shining. Shining beautifully, like the stars that Wonwoo remembers them to be, loves them to be. “The one you drove the night I first saw you.”

He’s right; he tends to be that way when it comes to Wonwoo. The floodgates open inside Wonwoo’s body at Mingyu’s recognition of what the numbers mean, the significance they hold to their story.

“My beginning, your end,” Wonwoo tells him. _Please understand me_. “Except there is no such thing, because we begin and end every time, from the starting point to the finish line, then we do it all over again.”

There’s a short pause. “This isn’t brand new.” Mingyu’s skin glows when he voices out the simple observation.

“No, it isn’t,” Wonwoo confirms for him. “I had it made the night of our first race.”

His revelation is a surprise to Mingyu, whose eyes widen and jaw slacken as the words registers to him. Their first race feels like a lifetime ago, is probably a lifetime ago, but at the same time, it was only yesterday. The memory is still so vivid in their mind, like a favourite movie they watch again and again until they can recite the dialogues in it verbatim.

“I love you.” Wonwoo tosses away his shackles of doubt and consternation aside to embrace this truth. “I love you,” he repeats again to make sure Mingyu knows, to make sure every cell in his being is aware of it, too. He’d shout it on top of his lungs if he needed to, but the only two people who matter are in this room. “You don’t need to _make_ me love you because I already do, you giant pain in the ass.”

Mingyu gulps thickly and Wonwoo holds his gaze, not shying away for a second. Eventually, he makes the smart decision to ignore Wonwoo’s half-hearted insult. Instead he points out, “You never wore it around me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I’d have the real thing,” he smiles at Mingyu, hoping the younger will return it soon. “And the real thing’s always better.”

The wind is no longer cold on his back, for the only thing Wonwoo can feel in this moment is insurmountable warmth.

“The necklace might not be new, but all of this…” Wonwoo gestures around the room with his hands. “They’re new to me.”

“All of what?”

“Love,” and,“You.” and also,“Us.”

“It’s new to me, too,” Mingyu claims stubbornly.

As much as Wonwoo wants to be on the same page as him, this is one of the few things in which they differ.

“No, it’s not,” he tries to explain as gently as he can. “It’s different. You look at me and I’m floating in space, Mingyu. You smile and, and—there are poems lining inside my head, they write themselves effortlessly. Then you tell me you love me with such conviction and I can only pray you never ask me to burn the world down because I will. I _will_.”

There’s no questioning it at this point.

“You had years… brave, brave years being honest, staying true to yourself and your feelings for me. I’m still learning to do the same, but I promise I’m trying my best, so please—don’t give up on me.”

Mingyu shakes his head as if to say, _no, never._ What he vocalises instead is exactly what Wonwoo expects to hear from him: “I love you.”

“Me too.” A sniffle escapes Wonwoo along with the single tear from the corner of his eyes. He wipes it away quickly, but Mingyu catches him anyway. “So fucking much, I don’t know what to do with myself at times.”

Finally, _finally_ , he takes a step in Wonwoo’s direction. There has been too much distance separating them from the beginning and Wonwoo’s suffering is now about to end.

“Let me show you the ropes, hm?” Another step, then another. He puts one foot in front of the other, slow but sure. “Just like how sex was uncharted territory for me, this is uncharted territory for you.” Mingyu is standing right in front of him now and Wonwoo has to look up to see his face. “So let me hold your hand and we’ll find our way out of this intricate maze together.”

He holds his hand out for Wonwoo to take, and he does it without a moment of hesitation. The moment his slender fingers slip in the gaps between Mingyu’s thicker ones, Wonwoo finds that he’s right where he needs to be. This is where he belongs.

“Will you trust me from now on?”

“It’s not about trust…” Wonwoo squeezes Mingyu’s hand gently. “It’s—I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“Neither do I.” Mingyu squeezes back, the pressure tethering Wonwoo to reality. “My biggest fear is losing you because I’m eating stupid cereal while you’re being dragged into an alley for running that smart mouth of yours to the wrong person.”

This doesn’t seem like the right time to tell Mingyu that the situation he just described is a rather frequent occasion in Wonwoo’s life, so he keeps the fact to himself for now, makes a small note to let Mingyu in on it later.

“I can't rest when I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I have to protect you.” His eyes flutter close and Wonwoo wants nothing more than to kiss his pink lids. “Because you’re the most important thing to me. And when you don’t let me do that, it hurts.”

“It’s…” Mingyu struggles to find the rest of his sentence, a rare occasion to witness for Wonwoo. “I think I’d go mad if anything were to happen to you.”

Wonwoo leans forward to press their cheeks together, some of Mingyu’s warmth immediately transferring to his own face.

“I don’t know,” he hears Mingyu sighs right into his ear in their current position. “I don’t know what else I can say to make you see it. To make you understand. I’ve exhausted all the words in my vocabulary.” His mouth finds Wonwoo’s neck and there’s an almost imperceptible kiss landing there. “What can I do to show you, Wonwoo, that I haven’t already done?”

He thinks of Seungcheol and the tracking chip. Thinks of how Jeonghan had stayed put even if his inertia was chipping away at his soul little by little—all because Seungcheol asked him to. Even though _knowing_ had shaken Jeonghan, it was still a thousand times better than being blindsided. And if Seungcheol could trust Jeonghan to respect his decision, Wonwoo could trust Mingyu to do the same and more. There are lines separating them that the world's placed there, but it doesn't mean they can't hold each other's hand across those lines. Wonwoo shouldn't put up more barriers than ones that already exist, he should be tearing them down with Mingyu's help.

“Nothing,” Wonwoo breathes out, reaching up to caress the short hairs on the younger’s nape with his unoccupied hand. “I'm sorry. I get it. Okay. I get it now, Mingyu.”

The racer pulls away from him to look Wonwoo straight in the eyes as he asks, “You do?”

“I do.” Leaning forward once more, Wonwoo presses their forehead together. “I promise, I do.”

“Good.” Mingyu doesn’t question him twice, because that’s the trust he has in Wonwoo. The weight he puts behind Wonwoo’s words. What the older says is the law, and Mingyu abides by his rules not to make him repeat himself more than once. “I wanna kiss you now, can I? I missed you a lot.”

Wonwoo thinks he might have nodded but he isn’t sure because Mingyu’s mouth is covering his before another second can go to waste. His lips are familiar, the curvature something impossible for Wonwoo to forget in this lifetime and even the next. He sighs into the kiss, releasing Mingyu’s hand only to wrap his arms fully around the younger’s neck and drag Mingyu’s face down to meet his own.

His heart soars until it’s in zero gravity again, except now there’s an unconditional guarantee that should Wonwoo ever fall Mingyu will be there to catch him.

Their lips make a wet noise when they separate and it’s enough to make Wonwoo pull him right back in, wanting to hear the sound over and over again, commit it to memory. Mingyu’s hands give him a purposeful squeeze on his ass and Wonwoo promptly realises the error he must rectify in their current situation.

“You know, the entire purpose of me wearing this is so that you can feel me up,” he redirects the other’s hands from his clothed bottom to his exposed waist. “Why waste a perfectly good opportunity for the sake of being a gentleman?”

Mingyu chuckles softly against Wonwoo’s jaw.

In contrast to the cool, citrusy cologne Wonwoo smells coming off his shirt, Mingyu’s breath is warm, strawberry-scented. Must be the bubblegum again.

“It’s my default setting,” Mingyu owns up to his mistake, the tone of his voice regretful. “Came like this from the factory, I’m afraid.”

“Well, switch into your horny mode, please. I’d like to get wrecked at some point tonight.”

He chuckles again before pulling away and looking down, a frown on his handsome face. “Didn’t this shirt used to be longer?” His fingers twirl the sewed hem and the awkward cut of pattern he finds there. “Where’s the rest of it? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

“You have Seungcheol to thank for that.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrow, a perfect arch raised in incredulity. “Oh yeah?”

Wonwoo threads his fingers through Mingyu’s jet-black locks and tugs him closer until his mouth is on the racer’s beauty mark on his cheek. He kisses him there, trails a little to the right and then up, taking a small part of Mingyu’s earlobe in between his teeth. The younger suppresses a delighted shiver, but with their bodies flushed together, it’s impossible for Wonwoo to miss it.

“If you give me a good enough orgasm…” Wonwoo bargains—he’s a negotiator, after all. “Maybe I’ll loosen up and accidentally tell you all about it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” says Mingyu, his thumb now caressing the smooth skin of Wonwoo’s stomach. It grows heated beneath his touch, like magic is being awakened inside him just from the chaste contact alone. Then, the hand creeps upward and it’s Wonwoo turn to shiver.

“Do you like me in this?”

“I do,” Mingyu admits openly, so much candour in the way his syllables are delivered. He was never one for dishonesty or elusiveness. With Mingyu, what Wonwoo sees is what he gets. What he hears being spoken to him are words of truth, Mingyu’s own special version of gospel. “Very much.”

“Better in it or out of it?”

Mingyu takes a moment to consider the question, once again withdrawing from Wonwoo’s space for a better look. “Haven’t decided yet. Keep it on for now, just in case.” Wonwoo grins, nodding in agreement. “And this, too,” Mingyu adds finally, looping the chain with the dog tag back around Wonwoo’s neck. “I like it on you.”

Wonwoo launches himself forward, kissing Mingyu again. This time around, he commits the act with more intent. There’s a clear purpose in his mind, a goal he’s working towards. Amidst all the sweetness they exchange, strawberry passing from Mingyu’s tongue to Wonwoo’s, the older’s hand finds the zipper at the top of Mingyu’s shirt. He begins to drag it down slowly, punctuates each tooth that comes undone with a kiss, or a bite, or a lick. Sometimes he’s generous enough to give Mingyu all three.

By the time he gets to the end of the line, Mingyu is panting against his mouth. He gives the tab a tug and Mingyu’s shirt comes apart, exposing his tanned torso. His complexion is so beautiful, Wonwoo thinks as he leans back to admire it, the gods must have created this colour for Mingyu to wear and no one else is allowed the same gift of grandeur.

Wonwoo brings his thumb into his mouth as Mingyu watches him closely. He sucks the digit thoroughly until a trail of saliva dribble over the side—only then does he deem it wet enough to bring it over Mingyu’s left nipple.

“Fuck,” Mingyu throws his head back when Wonwoo begins to rub the puckered bud lightly. “Wonwoo,” he warns lowly when the pressure Wonwoo is applying there begins to increase.

Feeling particularly courageous, Wonwoo lets his fingers skirt the waistband of Mingyu boxers, but the moment he slips a finger underneath the elastic rubber, Mingyu yanks his hand away.

“Be patient.”

Wonwoo nods and for his compliance Mingyu undoes his pants, pinching a small part of the fabric on his upper thigh to pull it down. The pants drop to the floor and it leaves Wonwoo with his crop top and a single layer of underwear, still cotton, but black this time. Pretty as always, the way Wonwoo enjoys being, except where he used to have solitary enjoyment over the view, now he has a target audience with whom he wants to share it with.

Mingyu palms his crotch over the thin fabric and Wonwoo already knows his hand will come off damp and sticky before Mingyu retracts it.

“Why are you so wet already?”

He licks his lips but doesn’t give Mingyu a verbal answer.

_Come find out for yourself._

The younger assesses Wonwoo’s current state, a step away from falling off the steep cliff of sanity. Wonwoo feels his face heating up under Mingyu’s scrutinising gaze and he knows his lover is another ten seconds away from arriving at his conclusion. Mingyu eyes Wonwoo’s straining erection, caged by his underwear for now, and realises that there’s another race ongoing tonight that he isn’t made aware of.

In that race, Wonwoo’s got way of a head start.

He clucks his tongue in disapproval. “You’ve kept yourself busy in my absence.”

“Can you blame me?” Wonwoo shifts his stance and it changes the plug’s position inside him, making him moan a little. “I go from being fucked on the regular to strictly no cock for a little over two weeks.”

This is all Mingyu’s fault, to be completely honest. Before they started sleeping together, Wonwoo has no fixation on everything anal. But then Mingyu and his imposing girth barged their way into his life and made it hard for him to get off without direct stimulation to his prostate. It’s never been a problem before because Mingyu is always there to provide the solution to the problem he’s created, the antidote to the sickness he himself infected Wonwoo with. That hasn’t been true while Mingyu was off the grid, so Wonwoo had to resort to desperate measures.

“What? Hate to boost your ego, but you know you can have anyone you want, don’t you?” Mingyu grabs Wonwoo’s chin to force him to look up and give answers to his question. He turns Wonwoo’s face one side, and then the other. “So pretty like this, who wouldn’t want you?”

“You’re probably right. I _can_ take my pick of the litter.” Mingyu growls at his challenging words, the sound a little more on the offended side than playful.

Wonwoo reaches behind him and moves his underwear out of the way, fingers curling at the base of the plug. He moans again, maybe this time it’s partially for show, but what’s wrong with that? It gets Mingyu’s ears perking up, his pupils darkening, and his breath hitching. The holy trinity of Mingyu’s crumbling—he’s giving in.

He slips the plug out of his hole and lets it fall to the floor with little to no regard for it. There’s wetness down there from the little bit of lube leaking out of him. Mingyu confirms this for himself when his hands snake around Wonwoo’s body, coming to rest on his slicked thighs, making even more mess there with the way he spreads his palms across Wonwoo’s flesh. Then, they begin to move up.

“But what’s the point, Mingyu?”

“What?” he asks, though Wonwoo suspects he isn’t fully behind the question. Mingyu's fingers are right outside Wonwoo’s rim now, his hole clenching desperately for friction.

“What’s the point?” Wonwoo repeats for emphasis. “Truth is, in here,” he guides Mingyu’s index finger inside his body, pushing past the ring of muscle that contracts for a moment before it relaxes, welcoming the digit.

“And in here,” he takes Mingyu's other hand to his chest, presses his palm right where his heart beats for the younger and him alone, “I’m already moulded in the shape of you.”

Mingyu’s mouth meets his and Wonwoo feels a hardness against his hip when Mingyu’s body is pressed flushed with his own. Good, they’re matching their paces now. His kisses grow more fervent, more eager, and he bites Wonwoo’s lower lip just hard enough to distract him from the sting of a second finger being inserted into him.

A loud gasp floats through the air and Wonwoo’s lost as to which one of them it had come from. He kisses Mingyu again because he can, and when they separate Mingyu is laughing. Not the kind of concealed, barely-there laughter, but one that involves his whole body shaking, amusement overtaking him completely. Almost as if he’s not currently giving Wonwoo the ultimate fingering of his life.

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo asks him.

Mingyu kisses him once, just a chaste ministration to placate Wonwoo and stop him from getting annoyed.

“I can’t believe we had a heart-to-heart conversation just now and all that time you had a butt plug up your ass. Do you know how embarrassing that story will be when I tell it to our children later? Oh, by the way, your father said I love you for the first—”

He’s had enough of this utter nonsense, so he silences Mingyu by clenching firmly around his fingers. That seems to shut the younger up quite quickly.

“Are you focusing now?”

“Yeah.” The playful smile is featured on his face, so Wonwoo squints his eyes at Mingyu until it disappears. It doesn’t really, because the glimmer is still in his eyes, but Wonwoo will take what he can get for now. “I’m focused. Good to go, baby.”

“Good,” Wonwoo says, then he’s licking the seam of Mingyu’s lips.

A second later, the younger brushes the pad of his finger over Wonwoo’s prostate and Wonwoo can’t hold back anymore. He wants to come, but not without Mingyu’s cock inside him. At the rate they’re going he doesn’t know how much longer he can last being stimulated like this. His underwear is ruined already, precome seeping through the entire front part, the leaking tip of his erection tenting the fabric rather prominently.

“Mingyu,” he calls his name, voice gravelly. “Come on.”

Wonwoo is inclined to let out a string of profanities when instead of fucking him right there and then, Mingyu takes a step back. “Wait a sec, this isn’t enough lube for you to take me.”

 _No!_ he wants to shout, but that’s a tad too desperate, isn’t it?

“Use your spit.”

“How classy,” Mingyu comments lightly, then he’s walking away.

Wonwoo thumps the back of his head against the window, feigning frustration at the distance now separating them although Mingyu’s only at most five feet apart from him. “I forget how arrogant you can be at times.”

“Would you rather it hurt?” he shots back, bending down to open his drawer. “No, right?”

_On the contrary, I think it’s the only kind of pain that’s worth experiencing._

“If it’s with you, I don’t mind.”

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu says sternly without looking at him. “Don’t tempt me like that.” He continues to rummage through the content of the drawer even though the bottle of lube is already in his hand.

Failing to find what he’s looking for in the first compartment, Mingyu closes it and open the one below. He ransacks everything inside there too, throws a couple of items onto the bed to get them out of his way, but he still hasn’t found what he needed. From where he’s standing, Wonwoo can see his brows growing taut.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m out of rubbers.”

He would have laughed if it weren’t for the palpable distress written all over Mingyu’s features.

“Okay…?”

“What do you mean, _okay?_ ”

“Then just… you know.”

“What—” Mingyu looks taken aback by his suggestion, not that Wonwoo really understands why.

“Oh, come on,” he tries to persuade Mingyu to get on board with his plan, because if he has to wait a minute longer Wonwoo would spontaneously combust, leaving nothing but dark ash in his spot. “It’s not like there’s been anyone else. You _know_ there’s no one else, just you.”

It proves to be the right thing to say because Mingyu slips back into that wonderful ease. The corners of his mouth upturned, his brows relaxed, his steps in Wonwoo’s direction. Good, good, absolutely wonderful.

There’s no need to ask whether there’s been anyone else for Mingyu, either. Somewhere along the way, along with the lessons he gave Mingyu in between the sheets, and along navigating uncharted territories together, Mingyu’s definition of sex has grown to include Wonwoo exclusively. Pleasure is a term unknown to him unless Wonwoo is there to share it.

“Is that so?”

“I already told you before. I love you. Now get your firm butt over here and make love to me against the window, for fuck’s sake, before I start having all the fun by myself.”

He juts his chin out in defiance and Mingyu’s eyes flare red.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Mingyu comes at him with a terrifying speed considering the lack of runway he has to gain velocity, but when he stops in front of Wonwoo everything is still again. They kiss and Wonwoo can never get enough of the feeling, Mingyu’s calloused fingertips framing his face, tilting his head back for better access. He sucks Wonwoo’s tongue into his mouth before he releases him.

“Turn around for me?”

When Mingyu is asking him so nicely like that, how can Wonwoo resist?

He feels Mingyu kneeling behind him the moment he turns to face the window. His mouth is warm on the base of Wonwoo's spine, then warm over the cleft of his ass. Before he realises it, Mingyu is dragging his underwear down with his _teeth_ and Wonwoo almost loses his balance. He wants to see—no, he _needs_ to see this, but he can’t, there’s no good angle for it. Mingyu has to repeat this scene again when Wonwoo’s flat on his back, Wonwoo will use everything he has in his arsenal to _make_ him.

Fuck, this is unfair.

Mingyu lifts Wonwoo’s feet one at a time with a hand around his ankle to remove his underwear, then he stands behind Wonwoo, hands on either side of his hips.

He kisses Wonwoo’s neck before asking, “Can you prop one leg up on the sill? This might be easier if you can.”

“You know,” Wonwoo starts to protest, though he raises his right leg and braces himself properly against the window, “when I said we should exercise together sometimes I didn’t mean like this.”

“You know,” here comes the smart retort from Mingyu, “you’re so mouthy before your first orgasm.” He lubes Wonwoo up generously, swiping a cool trail from his perineum to his hole. Wonwoo tightens his hold on the side jambs. “And then after you’re just sentimental.”

“You—”

The rest of his sentence tapers into a moan. Mingyu gives him no warning before he presses his way in, probably because he supposes Wonwoo doesn’t need it. He’s not entirely wrong, not knowing when to expect the delicious slide of Mingyu’s cock into him is half of the fun.

When Mingyu’s finally buried all the way to the hilt, his crotch coming into contact with Wonwoo’s ass, the tiled floor beneath the older’s feet morphs into a different surface entirely. Suddenly he’s standing on a golden beach, right at the edge of the water, where the tides salt their sun-kissed skin as they come and go, shifting the sand where the two men stand.

This is Mingyu to him: magic igniting itself inside Wonwoo’s body just from his presence, each broken moan a spell to keep him enchanted, every kiss viscous honey meant to trap him in place.

He starts moving and Wonwoo tries his best to match his movement—it’s teamwork, after all. He grinds down on Mingyu when he rams into him, but after a quick minute, it becomes entirely too much. Maybe it’s the considerable pause between the last time they had sex and tonight, but his body isn’t getting used to Mingyu as quickly as he wants it to.

Seemingly noticing Wonwoo’s distress in the hard lines of his body, Mingyu’s hand slides across his stomach in search for something—and he finds it quickly. The coil is there, resting like a sleeping dragon at the pit of his abdomen, a result of Wonwoo’s own tension combined with Mingyu’s deep thrusts.

“Relax,” he murmurs onto Wonwoo’s nape.

Mingyu pulls almost his entire length out, kissing Wonwoo’s exposed skin and nibbling his ear gently to help him catch his breath.

“How about now?”

“Yeah, come on.”

“I’ll go slow,” Mingyu tells him, and Wonwoo knows it’s love.

He keeps to his words, the propulsion of his hips laced with care and consideration for Wonwoo. Even so, Wonwoo jolts up every time Mingyu pushes his way in, oftentimes catching himself standing on his toes instead of the sole of his feet. It’s better this time around, though, he can feel it. When he lets gravity do its job, which is to aid him in impaling himself on Mingyu’s girth as he descends back to Earth.

“You okay?”

As an answer, Wonwoo turns his face to Mingyu. He gets the hint immediately, leaning forward to kiss Wonwoo despite the awkward angle.

“I feel good,” Wonwoo tells him, eyes catching Mingyu’s for a moment.

A smile forms against his flushed skin and Mingyu continues on moving, his pace increasing little by little, nothing Wonwoo can’t handle. Soon enough, his soft moans grow in volume with every roll of Mingyu’s hips. Wonwoo rests his forehead against the glass, trying to put all of his strength into the one leg that’s still remaining upright.

Teeth skim the length of his clothed shoulder, but their presence is ghosting and tentative, never once do they sink into his flesh and Wonwoo _needs_ them to. “Baby, this okay?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Wonwoo encourages him—a push in the right direction. “Bite down.”

Mingyu pulls at his shirt until there’s enough of Wonwoo exposed for him to brand with his mark. When he feels them, Mingyu’s sharp canines pushing against skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight up to his command centre, Wonwoo knows he’s so _close._ His hips are now pushing down on Mingyu out of their own accord.

Frustratingly, Mingyu insists on playing the game by his rules. He releases Wonwoo’s shoulder and returns his hands to Wonwoo’s waist, curbing his erratic pace.

“No.”

Stubborn as always, Wonwoo fights against the directive, which in turn causes Mingyu to punish him by flicking the head of his cock.

“S-shit,” Wonwoo feels himself throbbing, spurts of white dripping onto the floor. “Gyu, _holy fucking—_ ”

“I’ll do what I want,” the younger decides. “Or we can stop.”

What kind of alternative is that?

“Asshole,” Wonwoo bites back as he tries to regulate his breathing. “I taught you what you know.” He doesn’t try to move again out of concern that if he crosses the line one more time Mingyu would pull the plug on the whole thing.

“You should be proud of me, then. Aren’t I putting your teachings into good use?”

He shakes his head, exasperated but entirely too fond of Mingyu to take offence. “Fine, go ahead. Do whatever you want.”

Mingyu cants Wonwoo’s head until the base of his skull is rested on the younger’s shoulder. He brings a hand to Wonwoo’s chin and runs his thumb across his moist lips. Wonwoo gives him kittenish licks with his tongue and Mingyu is moving again.

There’s an assertive whisper, “Don’t come before I say so,” and it has Wonwoo nodding vigorously in assent.

It’s a decision he regrets barely thirty seconds later when Mingyu’s thrusts become merciless. Wonwoo tries to rationalise where this bravado comes from because he’ll lose his mind if he lets go of his anchor. He’s sure Mingyu is kissing him somewhere, somehow, but the soft ministrations are lost in the brutal attack on his prostate. Wonwoo’s positive the only reason he’s still standing is Mingyu’s hand playing support beneath his thigh.

“Ngh…”

“Don’t.”

“I—I won’t, I won’t.” Wonwoo assures him, but it’s feeble. His words come out stuttered, interjected by whimpers here and there. “Just… you, ah… you, mhm, feel so good. You make me feel so good.”

“Don’t even try, Wonwoo.”

 _Yield to me_.

“Ahh, try, ngh..” Wonwoo opens his mouth wider and lets the lewd noises he makes fill the air around them until it’s hot and suffocating. Mingyu makes no moves to silence him, because he derives pleasure from hearing them, too. “Oh, _oh_. Min, gyu. T-try, aah. Try—” _what?_ but Mingyu is already groaning, forehead rested against Wonwoo’s shoulder and cock pulsing inside him as he orgasms.

“That’s it,” he soothes Mingyu all the way through it, “That’s it, Mingyu.”

Since his lover hasn’t given him the green light yet, so Wonwoo holds his own climax in even as Mingyu fills him up until he’s about to overflow. He did say Mingyu is allowed to do whatever he wants—can’t back away from his words now, or they’d end up meaning nothing in the future.

Mingyu pulls out of him with a pop, still wet and hard against Wonwoo’s ass, and then he’s kneeling down again. Wonwoo wants to ask him what he’s doing when Mingyu inadvertently gives him an answer first.

“Shit,” he hears Mingyu curse, though it resembles a reverent whisper much more. “I got so much in you.”

Even without asking for clarification, Wonwoo can feel Mingyu’s come flowing out of him in slow trickles. He imagines the awed look in Mingyu’s face, the way his bottom lip is gnawed between his teeth as he takes in the view.

“Take responsibility,” Wonwoo breathes out.

There’s a _please_ in there somewhere, unsaid but not uncaptured by Mingyu’s ears.

“I will. I am.”

And that’s already the best thing he can ask for. The moment Mingyu touches him or takes Wonwoo into his mouth, he’s going to come. There might not even be a need for it, if Mingyu confesses his love for him while Wonwoo is in this wrecked state, the declaration will become a command he has no choice but to obey.

But then Mingyu says, “Gonna lick you clean, until the very last drop. I’ll continue until you come if you haven’t already, then I’m gonna lick you all over again.”

Wonwoo stiffens. They’ve never—

“You can say no, baby.”

“Don’t leave me hanging now, Mingyu-yah,” is Wonwoo’s answer to his question. “Please.”

“Please,” Wonwoo repeats when Mingyu’s hands knead his ass but the younger makes no other movement to make good on his words. “Do you want me to beg?”

“No need,” says Mingyu before he licks a hot stripe up Wonwoo’s upper thigh.

It’s weird at first, someone’s tongue circling his rim after a long while. When he remembers that this is Mingyu, though, someone that he’d trust with his life, any initial discomfort melts into arousal instead. The coil returns to his stomach, the dragon now awake, breathing fire inside Wonwoo’s belly that wants to be released.

Mingyu’s alternating between licks and presses, flattening his tongue against Wonwoo’s opening. And just right as Wonwoo’s at the precipice of his own release—

“Wh… shit, Mingyu, what are you doing?” he desperately rocks back against Mingyu but there’s nothing but air where the younger's face was just moments before.

A finger slips inside him and rubs his wall gently before it pulls out completely. “Getting my come out of you, what else? I can’t reach that far with my tongue alone.”

“Put your mouth back on me, or I swear to—”

He does exactly that. No problem there. This time, the finger returns with him. Wonwoo has no protest over that part either—how could he? He can’t even form coherent sentences anymore with how Mingyu’s fucking him.

“Baby, you close?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes and sees the image of Mingyu’s reddened mouth behind his close lids, traces of passion on his lips, tongue, the roof of his mouth.

“I…ngh. Ah.”

“Should I suck you off now?” he asks, gifting kisses around the sensitive area.

Mingyu’s even cheeky enough to bite the swell of Wonwoo’s ass gently, but it’s this gentle sting that brings Wonwoo to a realisation: he’s asking for instruction. _Guide me._

“Tell you what.” This is what a person sounds like when they’re head over heels, Wonwoo supposes. There’s no hiding the tenderness in his tone, how his affection slips into his speech. “Follow your instincts, love.”

It must be a smile he feels forming on the back of his left thigh, then Mingyu’s tongue is back where it’s supposed to be. Mingyu reaches around for Wonwoo’s cock and he’s too gone to even register an ounce of embarrassment that he’s pulsating in the younger’s hand. He jerks him off hastily, flicks of his wrist fast enough not to prolong Wonwoo’s agony any longer.

In the end, Mingyu does make him keep his crop top on all the way through. The front part is thoroughly wet by the time they’re finished, because Wonwoo needs to bite down on _something_ while Mingyu strokes him through his climax.

He slumps downward as soon as he’s past the height of it, losing all remaining power on his knees, but it’s just as Wonwoo’s expected before—Mingyu is there to catch him with open arms and steady his fall.

↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔ ↔

“Hey there, handsome,” Mingyu pushes Wonwoo’s hair out of his face.

An hour has gone by since Mingyu carried him to the bed in bridal-style, or maybe it’s been longer than that, Wonwoo’s not entirely sure about it. They spent the entire time exchanging lazy kisses and quiet words of proclamation, now that Wonwoo’s able to return all forms of Mingyu’s affection freely. His heart swells every time Mingyu says something that he can echo in respond. It seems to make Mingyu happy too, the smile on his face growing wider and wider to the point that he calls it quits, mumbling something about straining his facial muscles too much.

So they lie in the quiet for a while until Mingyu decides to break the silence just now.

“Hey there yourself.”

“Before,” he clears his throat. “What I did, um. That was… new.”

Wonwoo nuzzles at his cheek. “It sure was.”

“Hope it was okay.”

“Of course it was,” he taps Mingyu’s sternum with his index finger. There’s a question at the tip of his tongue and Wonwoo decides that there’s nothing stopping him from asking. “Where’d you get that thought from?”

“Just the view of you like this, I guess,” Mingyu tugs at Wonwoo’s shirt, “Wanted to make sure I get it memorised from every angle, including from down there.”

Wonwoo leans up to kiss him. “It’s not like I won’t wear it ever again. You can just ask.”

The blank stare Mingyu gives Wonwoo in return is so, so cute. It uncovers his darkest secret: that he hadn’t really thought of it that way. How sweet is he? No wonder Wonwoo is addicted to the taste.

He tries to divert the topic of their conversation away by bursting out, “I think we got come all over the window,” out of nowhere.

Wonwoo hits his chest. He would’ve kicked Mingyu in the shin, but he’s too in love with him. “Please shut up.”

“What was that for?” Mingyu glances down at him, faux-annoyed. “I’ll end up to be the one cleaning it anyway.”

Rather than talk about something they both already know for a fact, there’s another matter at the back of Wonwoo’s mind he’s been meaning to bring up. He wants to broach the topic carefully in the case that it’s not Mingyu’s intention to share the information with him, so careful that he’s close to stopping himself from asking many times during the night.

But he knows this is the right moment to talk about it.

He kisses the corner of Mingyu’s mouth until he feels it curving upward, and then he asks, “Where’d you go when you went away?”

Mingyu is silent for a few heartbeats and Wonwoo braves himself not to retract his question.

“I bought back my childhood home in Anyang a couple of years ago,” he says eventually. “Go there to cool my head off if I need to.”

Wonwoo hums in understanding and Mingyu’s arms around him tighten a fraction. “A _querencia_?”

“Yeah. No one knows about it and no one’s been there with me, I prefer it that way.”

“I see.”

He won’t push. He’s happy enough that Mingyu chose to share it with him, something as intimate with a link to his past, the life he has before this. Wonwoo feels regretful—he has nothing from his childhood to share with Mingyu, nothing in his story worth mentioning before he met Jeonghan. Even the life he leads after joining Jeonghan’s crew proves to be difficult for Wonwoo to share. It’s alright, though, because he’s doing his best.

One of these days, he’ll get it right and Mingyu will be there with him, holding his hand.

Just like he is right now.

Just like he’s promising to do in his next sentence: “It’s an hour drive from here. If you can wake up early tomorrow I’ll take you there.”

Wonwoo snaps his head up to look at him and Mingyu’s giving him that signature smile, a little crooked but bright enough to be blinding.

“Okay.” His heart is light, floating in the clouds of euphoria. “I’d love that.”

He reels Wonwoo in. “I love you,” Mingyu murmurs sleepily to the crown of his head in return and Wonwoo’s heart floods with happiness. “You haven’t told me what happened to the bottom half of your shirt.”

“Oh.” That’s right, he hasn’t. “Seungcheol got blood on it.”

“And how exactly did that happen?”

Drowsiness is seeping more and more into his voice. A minute of quiet and Mingyu will fall asleep, so Wonwoo settles with, “How about I fill you in on the whole story on the way to Anyang tomorrow?”

“Deal.”

He shifts away to look up at him. “Hey, Mingyu?”

Mingyu opens his eyes, brown and warm, and answers Wonwoo’s call. “Yes, baby.”

“I’m yours.” Wonwoo kisses his lips, then continues his declaration against the warmth he finds there. “As much as you are mine.”

“All rights reserved?”

 _How silly_.

“As long as the race is on.”

The way Mingyu kisses him back right after and guides Wonwoo’s hand to rest above his left pectoral, where he can feel the thrum of his heart beneath his palm—these actions say it louder and clearer than any string of words could have: the most important race of all is right here in their wild, untamed hearts. As long as they beat in harmony, there is always love to be found in this sliver of space between their bodies.

In that case, Wonwoo knows for certain that there will be no end to their story.

**Author's Note:**

> truly sorry for this bullshit i've subjected all of us too because of wonwoo's outfit.... hope you enjoyed it pls let me know if you did ;; anyway, happy (early? depends on when you read this lol) wonwoo's day everyone! 
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/bloominsummer)


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